


the tameness of a wolf

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: wanton boys are we [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cult of Kate, Daddy Dom Vesemir (The Witcher), Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Felching, Gentle Sex, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love Confessions, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Snowballing, Subdrop, Vesemir fucks, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: “I want Daddy,” Jaskier wails.Vesemir leaves for a supply run, and Jaskier has a nasty drop.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir
Series: wanton boys are we [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847614
Comments: 76
Kudos: 440
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	the tameness of a wolf

**Author's Note:**

> tag notes: in a single line it is referenced that at one point during jaskier's initial drop crisis, he tries to hurt himself. 
> 
> kate wanted jaskier dropping and crying in lambert's lap + soft sex with vesemir. at this point, y'all should know that kate gets what kate wants from me.

Jaskier wakes to the sound of Vesemir moving about the room, boots thudding softly.

“Mm?” he blinks sleepily and tries to raise his head, with little success. He’s still so tired, worn out from the night before and comfortable in the nest of blankets Vesemir has built around him.

“S’alright, little bird, just me.”

“Wha’s – ” Jaskier yawns, “ – time?”

“It’s early.” Vesemir comes to the side of the bed, so Jaskier can actually see him. He’s dressed, armor and cloak and all, swords across his back as well. “I’m going down the mountain to get some supplies, little bird. I should be back in two to four days, at most.” He leans down and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, petting through his hair as well. “The boys will take good care of you, give you anything you need, alright?”

Jaskier mumbles some sort of response, already slipping back into sleep. He tries to fight it, shifting fruitlessly to try and get Vesemir to kiss him for real. The Witcher snorts and gives him what he wants, the kiss soft and sweet. Jaskier hums happily and relaxes back into his nest. Vesemir pets through his hair again and murmurs, “Sleep well, little bird.”

He falls back to sleep dreaming of his Daddy’s hands and smiling.

* * *

When he wakes, his head hurts a little, and he still feels a little tired. But it’s later, now, and he knows he should probably be up, so he slowly dismantles the nest and crawls out of bed. He’s still naked, and even with the fire roaring in the hearth – someone must have come in and fed it recently – he feels a little chilly. Frowning, he rubs his hands up and down his arms and pads over to the dresser to grab some clothes.

Pulling them on goes slowly. He feels fatigued and weak, a little shaky, and he keeps fumbling buttons and ties. He figures he probably needs food – he hasn’t had anything since whatever Vesemir hand-fed him last night, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been since that. He hesitates for a moment and decides to put on some wool socks, still feeling chilled even with clothes on.

He opens the bedroom door just in time to see Geralt turn the corner into the hallway, headed toward him.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Geralt teases. “Feeling okay?”

Jaskier frowns. “Cold,” he says. “A little tired.”

Geralt’s teasing smile fades into something concerned, and in three quick strides he’s in Jaskier’s space. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing his other hand to Jaskier’s forehead. “You’re not warm,” he announces.

“Think I just need food,” Jaskier says, listing into Geralt’s hold. “Mm. Carry me?”

Geralt chuckles. “Spoiled,” he teases, but he picks Jaskier up bridal style anyway and carries him all the way to the kitchens.

Once there, he sets Jaskier on a stool nearby and starts pulling out ingredients to make – something. Jaskier isn’t really paying attention, feeling hazy and tired. He leans against the wall behind him and closes his eyes with a small yawn, crossing his arms across his chest to try and keep a little warmer.

“Hey, pet, wake up,” Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier jolts right into Geralt’s arms.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead into Geralt’s neck. “It’s cold in here.”

“Sorry,” Geralt apologizes. “I made you some food. Let’s go out and sit by the fire, hm? It’ll be warmer there.”

Jaskier hums and nods, slowly slipping off of the stool. He stumbles a little and Geralt catches him.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Jaskier?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Just tired, I guess.”  _ And a little sad,  _ he doesn’t add. It’s nothing, he knows, just a random bout of blues – it happens, especially in the winter.

“You can take a nap once you’ve eaten.”

“Alright.” He’s still a little shaky, but he’s steady on his feet, so he just follows Geralt out of the kitchens. They bypass the dining table entirely and Geralt grabs a handful of pillows and a blanket to plop down on the fur rug just in front of the hearth. Eskel is there, stoking the fire and adding more wood.

“There he is,” Eskel smiles. Jaskier tries to smile back, but finds he doesn’t have the energy. Eskel’s smile dims. “You alright, pretty thing?”

Jaskier waves a hand. “Just hungry and tired.” He nods to the food Geralt is holding. “Gonna eat and then take a nap.”

Eskel studies him for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “Let us know if you need anything else, pretty thing.”

“Hm. I will.” Jaskier settles himself down into the pillows, arranging them until he’s comfy and pulling the blanket over himself. He reaches out and Geralt hands him the plate of food, bread and some salted meats as well as some stew in a little bowl. “Thank you, Geralt.”

“Of course, pet.” Geralt bends to press a kiss to his hair and then stands again. “I’m going to be in the courtyard. Eskel’s around, and Lambert’s in the armory. Just shout if you need anything, we’ll hear you.”

Jaskier nods and digs into his food. Geralt looks at him fondly for a moment before he turns and heads out to the courtyard.

He finds he hardly tastes anything he eats, but he gets all of it down. His head still hurts, and he still feels a little weak, but he’s finally warmed up. Sighing, he rearranges the pillows until he can lay down right where he is, still covered in the blanket, and lets himself slip into sleep.

* * *

His sleep is restless. He never quite falls deeply asleep, but he never quite wakes up, either. Instead, he tosses and turns, halfway between sleep and waking, aware enough of the world around him to factor it into his dreams, but not aware enough to know the difference between those dreams and reality.

When he finally wakes properly, he doesn’t feel rested at all. In fact, he feels so much worse; his head aches and so does his back, and he’s so thirsty it hurts to swallow. The shaky weakness has remained, too, and the sadness is worse. He feels, insanely, like he’s about to cry.

He looks around. The fire is dying down a bit, it needs to be fed; he remembers Geralt said he’d be in the courtyard. Eskel is just around, somewhere, and Lambert was in the armory. But he doesn’t know how long it’s been since he laid down – a handful of minutes or a handful of hours? He licks his lips with a too-dry tongue and calls out, “Eskel?”

There’s a thud from the direction of the library, and soon enough Eskel is coming into view.

“Hey there, pretty thing. Have a nice nap?”

Jaskier frowns. “No,” he shakes his head. “I’m – fuck, I need water.”

Eskel nods. “Give me just a second.”

He disappears toward the kitchen and Jaskier rubs at his eyes, which suddenly feel warm and gritty. He groans softly and shifts to sit up on his knees, wiping weirdly sweaty hands on his shirt. Where he’d been chilly before, he’s suddenly too warm, and he mutters angrily as he scoots away from the fire.

Eskel returns with a cup of water, and Jaskier takes it gratefully, downing most of it in one swallow. It makes his throat feel much better. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Are you feeling  _ any _ better?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier shakes his head and finishes the water. “No,” he answers. Eskel leans down and presses a hand to his forehead.

“No fever,” he says. “Huh.”

Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. “I’m sure it’s just a bad day,” he mumbles. “Maybe I should just go back to bed.”

Eskel looks pensive for a moment. “If you’d like,” he says. “But one of us should come with you.”

Jaskier shrugs. “If you want, I guess.” He feels lethargic, and doesn’t really  _ care. _ “What time is it?”

“Just about dinner time.”

Jaskier hums. “I don’t think I’m gonna eat,” he says. “Just wanna go to bed.”

Eskel nods. “Alright. Have any preference for which one of us watches over you?”

“No.” Jaskier levers himself to his feet, shivering oddly at the blood rush. “I’m sleeping in Vesemir’s bed, though.”

“That’s fine. I’ll talk to them, and someone will be up soon. Okay?”

Jaskier hums an affirmative and trudges back up to the bedroom. His legs feel heavy and he really does ache. Maybe he  _ is _ catching something. Oh well. Sleep can only help. He rebuilds the nest from this morning and takes off his clothes, heedless of the slight chill, to crawl in and curl up.

If any of the others come up, he’s asleep before they make it.

* * *

Waking for the fourth time is the worst yet. He doesn’t have a clue what time it is, but it’s dark in the room and he’s alone. His body aches and he’s still so tired and before he knows what’s happening, he’s crying.

“Fuck,” he hisses, rolling over to bury his face into a pillow. “Fuck, why….”

A sob overtakes him at the same time the bedroom door creaks open, someone trying to be quiet.

“Oh, fuck,” Eskel mutters. “Jaskier, pretty thing, what’s wrong?”

He’s at the side of the bed in an instant, pulling down the side of Jaskier’s nest so he can see him. Jaskier huffs and wipes at his face.

“I don’t know,” he mutters miserably. “I just, I woke up alone, and – ”

The sobs take over again, and Eskel makes a soft, soothing noise. “Okay, okay. It’s alright, pretty thing, come here.” He opens his arms, and Jaskier squirms over until the Witcher can wrap him up in a hug. It’s a little awkward, but Jaskier can bury his wet face into Eskel’s shoulder, and Eskel is holding him tight and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.

Finally, Jaskier’s able to catch his breath, tears slowing. He doesn’t feel any better. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it, pretty thing,” Eskel murmurs. “Do you want me to get in bed with you?”

Jaskier thinks for a moment. “That’d be nice,” he says, scooting back when Eskel lets him go. He wriggles over to the other side of his little nest while Eskel stands and strips down to his smalls. Eskel gets into the bed a little clumsily, but soon enough he’s as nestled in as Jaskier, and Jaskier is able to snuggle up to his side.

“There we go,” Eskel murmurs, pulling several blankets over them. “Comfy, pretty thing?”

Jaskier mumbles an affirmative, nuzzling into Eskel’s shoulder. He still feels like crap, and he’s still weak and shaky, but Eskel is warm and solid and the skin contact is very nice. It gets even better when Eskel starts petting through his hair, and slowly he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

He wakes once more still tangled in Eskel’s arms. It’s morning, he can tell, though he doesn’t know exactly what time it is. Eskel is snoring softly, breath shifting Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier finds he really doesn’t want to get up. He shivers and frowns, pressing closer to Eskel’s heat. There’s no good reason he should still be so cold and achy, unless he really is getting sick. He’s also still sad, a grey cloud resting over his mind.

More sleep eludes him, though, and so he shakes Eskel gently.

“Morning,” Eskel mumbles into his hair. “Feeling any better?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not really. Think I might really be getting sick.”

Eskel presses his lips to Jaskier’s forehead. “Still not warm,” he says. “That’s good, at least.”

“Feel cold.”

Eskel hums and shifts so he can lean over and look into Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier relaxes back into the bed and Eskel’s arm, and he knows he’s pouting, but Eskel doesn’t mention it.

“I have some chores I need to do, pretty thing,” he says. “But how about this – we can go grab Geralt or Lambert, and you can take a nice, long bath. That should warm you up, hm?”

Jaskier thinks on it a moment, then nods. “Okay,” he says.

It takes a moment for the both of them to climb out of bed, and Eskel helps Jaskier pull his clothes on. The Witcher clearly notices how shaky he is, but he doesn’t say anything. They walk down to the kitchen, and find Lambert there making himself breakfast.

“Hey there little one,” Lambert greets, pressing a small kiss to Jaskier’s temple. For some reason, that makes Jaskier’s lip tremble, and he bites down on it to stop it. “You look upset.”

“He doesn’t feel very well,” Eskel explains. “I’ve got some things I need to do. I thought a bath would be nice – ”

“I’m cold,” Jaskier offers. “Would you come bath with me?”

Lambert nods. “Of course. Let’s get you fed first, though, little one.”

Jaskier nods and sits on the same stool from yesterday while Lambert makes him breakfast as well. They eat in companionable silence, and then once they’re done, Lambert scoops him up to carry him down to the baths.

The room is humid and steamy as always. Lambert sets him on a carved stone bench and undresses him, then strips himself, and lifts him into one of the hot springs. The water is hot, almost uncomfortably so, but Jaskier sighs and relaxes into it all the same. His mood isn’t improving, though, despite the food and the soft words Lambert’s murmuring and the heat.

He makes a discontent noise and pushes away from Lambert’s arm.

“Jaskier?” Lambert asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “I don’t – ” he shakes his head again and ducks under the water to wet his hair, “ – I’m…. I don’t feel good. I don’t like it.”

Lambert frowns. “I’m sorry, little one.”

Jaskier huffs. “It’s just – I don’t know. I’m…sad.”

“Hm.” Lambert reaches out and Jaskier lets him pull him back into the circle of the Witcher’s arms. He presses soft kisses across Jaskier’s shoulder. He does like the skin contact, something about it soothing the roiling in his mind just a bit. Not enough to make a difference, really, but enough to notice. “Is there anything you can think of that we can do for you?”

Jaskier shrugs. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I like – touch. The skin contact. It’s nice.”

Lambert hums again. “Alright,” he says. “Between the three of us, we can make sure you’re getting that. Okay?”

Jaskier nods, letting himself relax back into Lambert’s chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be, little one,” Lambert presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “We’re here to take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier mumbles.

“Of course.”

* * *

His mood continues to not improve, despite the near constant skin contact he’s getting. By the end of the night, he’s keyed up and frustrated and he  _ knows _ he’s upsetting Geralt and Eskel and Lambert, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

After pacing the common area for a bit, restless energy under his skin, he huffs angrily and plops himself back down into Lambert’s lap. The Witcher reaches up to hold him easily, hands pushing under Jaskier’s shirt and caressing over his back.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he murmurs. “We just want to help.”

“I  _ know, _ ” Jaskier whines, thumping his fist against the back of the chair they’re in. Eskel comes up to the side and pushes a hand through his hair, and he leans into the touch, but it doesn’t  _ help,  _ and he’s sad and frustrated and achy, still, and he just –

He bursts into tears.

“Oh, pretty thing,” Eskel murmurs, and Jaskier buries his face into Lambert’s neck, sobs wracking his frame. Eskel’s hand doesn’t leave his hair, and Lambert pulls him closer, holds him tighter. At some point, Geralt comes to stand opposite Eskel, and his hand joins in Jaskier’s hair.

The sobs don’t stop. He’s soaking Lambert’s shirt, and he feels guilty about it, feels like he’s worthless for being such a  _ problem,  _ practically a grown man that can’t take care of himself, relies on these three and Vesemir to do it for him, and – and –

“I want  _ Daddy, _ ” Jaskier wails, and Lambert makes a short, broken sound.

“He’s down the mountain, pet,” Geralt says gently. “He’ll be back, I promise.”

Jaskier sniffles, rubbing his already-wet face into Lambert’s sopping shirt. “I know,” he mumbles miserably. “I just – I –  _ fuck. _ ” He wails again, sobs overtaking once more, and there’s a myriad of soft, shushing noises from the Witcher’s surrounding him.

They just want to help, and he wants them to help, but it’s just not  _ working.  _ He wants Vesemir, wants his Daddy, and he can’t have that, and it just makes him more upset. The tears come faster, and he can’t breathe, and he  _ aches. _

“Jaskier, sweetheart, pretty thing,” Eskel is murmuring in his ear, and Jaskier tries to calm down enough to reply, tries to gather his wits, but he can’t. Sobs are still shaking his frame and he’s going dizzy, eyes burning as he starts to run out of tears. “Jaskier, I’m going to use Axii, just to calm you down. Sweet thing, you’re not breathing, I need you to calm down.”

Jaskier manages to make a short, sharp noise that he hopes sounds like an affirmative. There’s some shuffling and then his mind goes blessedly quiet.

“Relax, pretty thing, breath for me. Slow. In…out, in…out. Just like that. Good boy, Jaskier.”

He relaxes, and his breathing evens out easily, and he finally stops crying. “Thank you,” he slurs, head dropping back down to Lambert’s shoulder as if his strings have been cut.

“Of course, little one,” Lambert murmurs. “Of course.”

“How do you feel, Jaskier? Tell me the truth.”

“Sad,” Jaskier answers. “Worthless. Miss Daddy.”

“We’re sorry, pet,” Geralt murmurs, and trails soft kisses along his hairline at the nape of his neck. “I promise he’s coming back.”

“You’re not worthless, little one,” Lambert says, a little sternly, and Jaskier whimpers.

“Lambert,” Eskel says. “Be careful. It’s okay, pretty thing, you’re okay. You aren’t worthless, sweetheart, not at all.”

“I’m okay,” Jaskier repeats, and he feels it, but – not quite. His stomach is still twisted, something dark lingering under the blankness in his mind.

Everyone is silent for a moment, and Jaskier tries to let himself relax into the mindlessness, but he’s too aware of that black below. “Eskel,” he whines.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Axii lifts. Jaskier whimpers. “No,” he says. “No, I – ” he starts to sob again, chest shaking, and Geralt swears in Elder.

“Shit,” Lambert mutters. “Jaskier, little one, can you look at me?”

Jaskier shifts, still sobbing and hiccupping, and tries to look at him. His vision is blurry with tears but his eyes feel dry and gritty despite them. Lambert looks so concerned, and another wave of black rolls through Jaskier. He wails again.

“I’m – I’m sorry!” he cries. “I know I’m being bad, but I – I don’t – ”

“Hey now,” Geralt chimes in. “You’re not being bad, pet.”

“Absolutely not, pretty thing,” Eskel agrees.

“You’ve been such a good boy, little one,” Lambert finishes.

Jaskier just shakes some more, eyes squeezing shut. “I feel – like – like –  _ fuck. _ ”

Eskel murmurs something he doesn’t catch, and Geralt murmurs something back, and his stomach sinks. This is it, they’re going to tell him the truth now, tell him how bad he is, how awful they think he is, and he’s not ready, doesn’t want to face it even if it’s true. Doesn’t want to be bad, just wants his Daddy, and he sobs harder.

Axii feels like being plunged into warm, still water. Jaskier gasps and goes lax, Geralt catching him as he nearly tips from Lambert’s lap.

“We’re sorry, sweetheart,” Eskel murmurs. “Sleep, pretty thing.”

The world goes black.

* * *

Eskel is exhausted. They all are. Jaskier sleeps under the command of Axii for about six hours that first time, and when he wakes, the Sign broken, he descends back into hysterics once more.

They take turns casting the Sign, just to keep Jaskier calm. One of the times the Sign released without him being ordered to sleep, he tried to hurt himself, clawing at his arms, and it scared the soul out of all of them. So they take turns, on a strict time set, to keep the Sign constant, making sure Jaskier doesn’t get a chance to be in his own head.

It’s been an additional fifteen hours since Jaskier started the meltdown, and Eskel is exhausted, and Vesemir still isn’t due back for at least another twelve.

“Fuck it,” he finally says, when it’s Lambert’s turn to Axii Jaskier back to complacency. “I’m going to go find Vesemir.”

“Not alone,” Geralt says, but Eskel shoves him back down.

“Lambert can’t hold Axii that long alone,” he says sternly. “You need to be here so you two can switch off. I’ll take Scorpion and head down the Trail; hopefully Vesemir will be on his way up. If not, I’ll go to the village and get him, send him back with the horse, and I’ll bring the supplies up.”

Neither Geralt nor Lambert look enthused about this plan, but it’s all they have right now.

“Jaskier needs him,” Eskel says. “This can’t go on much longer.”

Geralt frowns fiercely, but sighs and nods. “Be careful,” he says. “We’ll keep him calm. Hurry.”

Eskel nods, and in less than fifteen minutes, he’s suited up and on Scorpion, headed down the narrow, snow-filled Trail.

Luckily, Vesemir is coming up the Trail, with supplies and the world’s slowest donkey. Eskel huffs and swings off Scorpion’s back to lead him instead, calling down the Trail as loudly as he dares.

“Vesemir!”

“Eskel?”

They meet at a bend in the Trail, and Vesemir looks confused and angry. Before he can say anything, though, Eskel hands Scorpion’s reins to him and takes hold of the donkey’s bridle.

“Jaskier needs you,” he says. “He dropped hard, and nothing we did worked to calm him down. We’ve been keeping him under Axii so he doesn’t hurt himself for over fifteen hours now. He’s been asking for you, whenever he’s conscious.”

Vesemir’s eyes go wide. “Fuck,” he mutters, and swings himself up onto Scorpion’s back. The stallion huffs and stomps, upset, but Eskel pets over his snout and murmurs promises of carrots.

“I’ll get the supplies up,” Eskel says. “Go.”

* * *

Jaskier wakes in a bed.

He doesn’t know which bed it is, though, because the last thing he really remembers was trying to scratch at his arms and then Lambert shouting, and darkness again. He thinks he’s been under Axii for…a while, now, though he couldn’t pin how long.

Axii is gone, and the anxiety starts to rise again. His arms flail a bit as he tries to sit up, but a hand on his chest stops him, and then there’s pressure all along his body, a weight holding him down.

_ Vesemir. _

“Daddy,” he breathes out, all shocked relief, and the Witcher hums, nosing into his hair. Jaskier relaxes and lets Vesemir’s weight press him down into the bed – theirs, he’s pretty sure now.

“Tell me what you’ve been feeling, little bird.”

Jaskier whines, tensing, and somehow it seems like Vesemir gets  _ heavier, _ pressing him even more into the bed, almost to the point of discomfort. “ _ Daddy, _ ” he whimpers.

“Be good, little bird. Tell me.”

He takes a deep breath – as best he can – and stammers out a basic explanation. “Felt – felt bad. Wanted you. Couldn’t…couldn’t stop panicking.”

Vesemir hums again, and presses a trail of kisses from Jaskier’s temple to his jaw. “When you say you  _ felt bad. _ What exactly were you thinking and feeling?”

Jaskier whines again, but takes another deep breath and tries to explain. “Like…like I was sick, at first. Achy and tired. And then…sad. Really sad. …worthless and like – like I wasn’t…wanted. Like a burden.”

“Little bird,” Vesemir murmurs, and Jaskier expects him to sound disappointed, but he doesn’t. He just sounds…guilty.

“Daddy?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” Vesemir continues, and he shifts so his weight is less crushing but doesn’t leave. The kisses trail along Jaskier’s jaw and over his throat. Jaskier shivers, not even in arousal, just… _ content. _ He feels okay again. Safe, now, with his Daddy holding and kissing him.

“Not your fault,” Jaskier mumbles. “Didn’t know. Never done that before.”

“I know, little bird,” Vesemir retraces his previous trail of kisses, up this time, “but it’s always a possibility. I should have thought about it before I left, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’m here now, and I want to make you feel better.”

“Okay,” Jaskier nods, and turns his face to catch Vesemir’s mouth.

The kiss is slow, chaste at first. Jaskier sighs into it, some sort of tension he wasn’t even aware of holding flooding out of his body. Carefully, with tentative little nips and licks, Vesemir deepens the kiss. Jaskier whimpers for it, reaching up and grabbing at any part of the Witcher he can get under his hands. They’re both dressed simply, just shirts and pants, but Jaskier finds himself wanting more, wanting to feel his Daddy’s skin.

“Clothes,” he mumbles against Vesemir’s mouth, unwilling to fully break the kiss to ask. “Want – skin, Daddy. Please?”

“Of course, little bird.”

It takes a bit of shuffling, and longer than it should because Jaskier won’t properly let go of the Witcher, but they manage to get their shirts and pants off and tossed to the end of the bed. Vesemir settles his weight back down onto Jaskier, their hips slotting together perfectly like always when Jaskier lets his thighs spread.

“Better?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Jaskier’s nearly slurring, the heat and pressure and warmth nearly overwhelming, but in a much better way than the oily black waves from before. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Anything you need or want, little bird, you can have it.”

Jaskier makes a small, stunned sound, turning his head so he can kiss Vesemir again. It’s just as slow as before, but deeper, messier, and Jaskier finds himself hardening. He flushes and tries to tilt his hips away, to no avail; they’re pressed so close together there’s no way Vesemir can’t feel it.

“Little bird,” Vesemir murmurs, lips sliding from Jaskier’s mouth down to his throat. “If you want, you can.”

“Can what, Daddy?” Jaskier asks, feeling suddenly unsure. He feels like he should be ashamed, getting hard so quickly when all they’re doing is cuddling, when Vesemir is trying to comfort him.

“Whatever you want.” Vesemir nips softly at a sensitive spot on his neck, making Jaskier gasp. “If you want to rock yourself against me until you come, I’d love to watch you, little bird. Or more, if you want that too.”

Jaskier chews his lip. “…more?”

Vesemir hums an affirmative, leaning up on his forearm so he can look into Jaskier’s eyes. “Anything you want, little bird, I want to give it to you. If that’s just this, that’s fine. If it’s more, that’s good, too.”

“…talk to me,” Jaskier mumbles, averting his eyes for a second as his face flames.

“About what?”

“ _ More, _ Daddy. What…what else could we do?”

Vesemir chuckles, but it’s a warm, loving sound, and they kiss again for a long moment, soft and slick and open. Jaskier moans softly into it, tangling fingers into Vesemir’s loose hair.

“Do you want to hump against me until you come, little bird?” Vesemir asks, lips whispering across Jaskier’s. “Make a mess of our bellies?”

Jaskier makes a soft, wanting sound, hips rocking a little. Vesemir shifts his leg, opening Jaskier up wider so he can move easier, and he whines.

“Or do you want something else? I could suck you off, little bird,” Vesemir continues.

“ _ Daddy. _ ”

“That sound good?”

“ _ Yes, _ Daddy,” Jaskier whispers, hips rocking a little faster. They’re still touching everywhere, from where Vesemir’s lips rasp over his face and jaw to their legs, Jaskier’s calves hooked around Vesemir’s thigh and hip respectively. His cock is pressed between their bellies, Vesemir’s slowly hardening between them as well, and he licks his lips. “ _ Daddy. _ ”

“I’ve got you, little bird.” Vesemir nips at that spot on his neck again, but doesn’t leave this time, instead sucking softly at the lightly stinging skin. Jaskier whimpers. “Could make you come on my fingers, little bird, slick you up and press you open. Slow, so you can really feel me. What do you think of that?”

Jaskier whimpers again, jolting at the thought. His gut clenches. “Daddy, Daddy,  _ yes, _ ” he says, nails leaving reddish crescents on the Witcher’s shoulders and neck. “Want – want you…whatever you want.”

Vesemir chuckles. “See, I want to know what  _ you _ want, little bird. Want to make you feel good again, make you forget the last few days.”

“I want – ” Jaskier has to pause to suck in a breath when Vesemir starts to rock his hips in counterpoint to Jaskier’s own clumsy thrusts, “ – want to come.”

“Then come, little bird. Make a mess.”

“Don’t want it to be over, Daddy.” Jaskier feels himself flush further as he admits it, but Vesemir just kisses over his reddened cheeks with a soft smile.

“It won’t be, little bird, I promise.” Vesemir kisses him again. “Won’t be over until you want it to be.”

“…promise?”

“I promise, little bird. Now,” Vesemir sucks at his bottom lip, “come for Daddy, little bird. I want to see it.”

Jaskier groans, heat flaring in his gut. His hips lose all rhythm as he ruts, more focused on the sensation than anything else. Hot, rough-soft skin and coarse hair, as familiar to him now as his own flesh. He sobs when the orgasm washes over him, a little, broken sound lost somewhere in the back of his throat. His thighs squeeze around Vesemir’s body, tight and jerking with each pulse of his climax.

“Daddy,  _ Daddy, _ please, please, feels so good – ”

“Good,” Vesemir purrs, right into his ear. “Good, little bird, being so good for me. Love seeing you come like this, make a mess of yourself, love knowing how much you enjoy our time together.  _ Such _ a good boy, doing as I said. Thank you, little bird.”

Jaskier sobs again, feeling like something in his chest has cracked open. “Want – more, Daddy, more, please,” he gasps, and Vesemir kisses the rest of the pleading words out of his mouth. Jaskier lets himself sink into the kiss, mind going blank in favor of just  _ feeling,  _ hyper aware of the roughness and slight burn of Vesemir’s stubble, the sticky mess sliding between them, the taste of his Daddy, jerky and mint.

“Anything, little bird, just tell me what you want,” Vesemir murmurs into their kiss. “I’ll give you anything.”

“ _ Daddy, _ ” Jaskier gasps. “Want your fingers. Slow, like you said – and, and – kiss me, while you – ”

Vesemir interrupts him with a kiss again, but that’s fine. Jaskier’s mouth goes slack against the press of Vesemir’s tongue, hands tightening their grip on the Witcher’s shoulders again, as if Vesemir might go anywhere if he lets go.

“Let me get some oil, little bird,” Vesemir whispers. “Just in the nightstand, I’m not going far.”

Jaskier knows he’s pouting, but he pretends he’s not and nods. “Okay, Daddy.”

Vesemir leans up and toward the nightstand, and Jaskier is distracted for a moment by the sight of his chest hair, thick and coarse and grey. He leans up on one elbow to push his face against it, giggling a little when it tickles. He rubs his face back and forth for a moment, like a cat, then bites and sucks at one of Vesemir’s pecs.

A large hand comes to rest on the back of Jaskier’s head. “Feels good, little bird,” the Witcher rumbles, and Jaskier feels his cock twitching again already. He turns his head a little more to catch a nipple in his mouth, eyes rolling when Vesemir makes a soft, high noise. He stays there for a moment, testing out little teasing flicks of tongue and gentle scrapes of teeth, to wonderful reception each time. Vesemir just pets through his hair, gasping and moaning softly with each touch, even when Jaskier moves to the other nipple.

But Jaskier is nothing if not impatient. A little reluctantly, he leaves Vesemir’s chest with another little bite, then collapses back to the bed. Vesemir stays leaned up, smiling down at him so softly Jaskier feels his heart speed up.

“So beautiful, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs after a moment. “I’m so lucky to have you. We all are.”

Jaskier whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as his stomach flutters with butterflies. “Daddy,” he whispers. “Daddy, please.”

“Please what, little bird? Tell me.”

“Want your fingers. Please. Slow. I want to feel you.”

“Of course, little bird. Such a good boy for me.” Vesemir pushes his legs off of his hips, down to the bed, but only so he can get an arm down between them. There’s the sound of a cork being pulled and then there’s cold slick dripping down Jaskier’s balls. He whimpers and shudders, but doesn’t complain or move, and soon enough Vesemir’s searing hand is massaging the oil into his perineum and around his hole.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy,” he pants, tilting his hips up. There’s a fumbling movement he doesn’t quite parse, and then there’s a pillow under his ass. Vesemir pushes one of his legs up, until it hooks naturally over the Witcher’s shoulder, and then Vesemir is pressing forward, bending Jaskier in half so they can kiss.

Jaskier ignores the light burn in his muscle and kisses back, whimpering when the very tip of a single finger sinks slowly into him. Vesemir goes slow, exactly like he promised, like Jaskier  _ asked, _ rocking just the tip of that finger in and out until Jaskier is dizzy with want.

“Please, Daddy, please, more,” he begs softly, the words garbled by the kiss Vesemir refuses to let up on.

His pleas are rewarded with a slow, gentle press of the rest of Vesemir’s finger, the pressure so soft and everything so slick with oil that Jaskier doesn’t even feel the friction or a stretch, just the sensation of something inside him. Not enough, though, but he  _ wants _ this, wants to feel every little second of Vesemir fingering him open.

For long, long moments, that’s all there is; Vesemir rocking that single finger in and out of him, tiny little tugs at the rim of his hole, more like teases of stretching than anything else, and kissing. Deep and wet and obscene, Vesemir’s tongue fucking Jaskier’s mouth in the same rhythm as his finger. Jaskier feels caught, trapped between his Daddy and the bed, full of Vesemir at both ends.

“Fu –  _ fuck, _ ” Jaskier pants when Vesemir finally lets him have space to breathe properly. “Daddy, Daddy, please, please, want – want more – please, Daddy, give me  _ more. _ ”

Vesemir looks into his eyes, his own burning with lust and love and a million other little things. Jaskier whines and clenches around that single finger still just gently probing at him. “Look at you, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs after a moment, when the tip of a second finger begins to flirt with the puckered rim of Jaskier’s hole. “So soft and pliant and wanting.”

“ _ Daddy. _ ”

The tip of Vesemir’s second finger sinks in, just the briefest flash of stretch before Jaskier’s body is practically trying to suck it inside. Vesemir doesn’t let it, though, keeping it to just one finger and that fingertip until Jaskier is panting, whining with every broken gasp. Then, and only then, does the Witcher let his second finger really sink in, just as slow as he was with the first.

Jaskier arches at the press, even just two fingers feeling so much  _ fuller _ when he’s spent too long with just one. “Daddy,” he moans. “Daddy, yes, please, you feel so good, love your fingers.”

“Sweet gods,” Vesemir murmurs. “Such a good boy, little bird, absolutely perfect. Feel like heaven around me, so tight and hot, you look like something out of a dream. You’re so wonderful for Daddy.”

“Daddy, yes,” Jaskier rambles. All of his breath whooshes from his lungs with a heartfelt moan when Vesemir crooks his fingers. Lightning cracks up his spine and he cries out, garbled and loud. Vesemir’s touch is soft, light and gentle, but he keeps a constant, sure pressure on Jaskier’s prostate until Jaskier is shuddering, whimpering with each barely-taken breath, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,  _ Daddy. _ ”

“Do you want to come, little bird?”

Jaskier thrashes as much as he’s able with Vesemir still pinning him. “Not – not yet,” he pants. “Want – want more, Daddy, please.”

“Patience, little bird.” Vesemir starts to rock those two fingers in and out, gently scissoring them on each pass, wider and wider and wider, until Jaskier is gasping with the light burn and stretch. It’s nothing,  _ nothing,  _ compared to what he knows he can take – what Vesemir has  _ made  _ him take – but it feels like so much. Overwhelming in the best way possible, forcing out all of his thoughts that aren’t  _ more _ and  _ Daddy. _

That goes on for what feels like an eternity, Vesemir stretching and fucking him with just two fingers. At some point the Witcher leans down and licks at the drying remains of Jaskier’s first orgasm, cleaning up his belly and chest, nipping at his pecs when he gets high enough. He sucks the leaking head of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth on a downward pass and Jaskier wails, hips jerking.

“Do you want that, little bird? Want me to fingerfuck you while you fuck my throat?”

Jaskier makes a weak, embarrassing noise, cock twitching so hard it bobs against Vesemir’s mouth. “Daddy, Daddy – want – want all of it, want  _ more, _ ” he whines.

“Tell me, little bird. Do you want more of my fingers, or do you want me to suck you off? You taste divine, it wouldn’t be a hardship to have you come in my mouth.”

It hits Jaskier out of nowhere. Vesemir rubs pointedly across his prostate and sucks gently at the head of his cock, tongue dipping under his foreskin, and he  _ comes, _ hard enough that his vision goes spotty and he loses his breath entirely. He clenches rhythmically around Vesemir’s knuckles, whining high and needy with each pulse.

When he comes down from the clouds, head still spinning, he finds Vesemir with a mouthful of his cum. He groans at the sight, groans again with even more feeling when Vesemir swallows pointedly and starts to lick up anything he missed. His fingers start to move again, gentle and slow still, and Jaskier shivers so hard he’s certain he hears his bones creak.

“ _ Daddy, _ ” he pleads, “more. Want more, please, Daddy, I’ll be good.”

“You  _ are _ good, little bird,” Vesemir assures him. “The best I could ever have asked for and all I ever wanted, little bird, all I ever want again.”

Jaskier makes a high-pitched, shy little noise and throws an arm across his face to hide the raging blush. Vesemir chuckles and reaches up to tug at his wrist.

“No hiding, little bird,” he says softly. A third fingertip presses at the edge of Jaskier’s hole. “You’re stunning. Especially when you come. I want to see your face while you take your pleasure.”

“ _ Fu – fuck, _ ” Jaskier pants. The tip of that third finger slips inside him, just a brief flash of stretch before it melts into the light ache he loves, and he whimpers for it, hips jerking up. Vesemir lets him have this one a little faster, but only a  _ little _ – it still feels like an eternity he waits to have all three fingers knuckle-deep inside of him. “Daddy, daddy, so good,  _ fuck. _ ”

“I’m glad,” Vesemir is practically purring, eyes wide and dark, and Jaskier squirms. “You look so good on my fingers, little bird. Sometimes I’m not sure which is better, seeing you stretched around my fingers or my cock.”

Jaskier chokes on his own breath but manages to cough out, “Cock, Daddy,” because he certainly has a  _ preference. _ Not that Vesemir’s fingers aren’t fucking wonderful, because they  _ are, _ practically undoing him right here and now, but he’s – well, a slut.

Vesemir chuckles and bites at Jaskier’s hip, then his inner thigh. “Is that what you want, little bird? My cock?”

Jaskier’s stomach swoops. “ _ Yes, _ ” he hisses. “Want – want you to fuck me just like this, Daddy, want to see your face, make you come so deep inside me I’ll leak for days –  _ please. _ ”

“Of course, little bird. But first,” Vesemir smirks up at him, lazy and confident, and Jaskier’s stomach drops again. “One more finger.”

“Fuck,  _ Daddy, _ please,” Jaskier whimpers.

The fourth finger isn’t slow at all, barely a breath between the feeling of it tickling his rim and the burn of it sinking in. Jaskier pants, hips jerking up, trying to get  _ more. _

“Think I could get my whole fist in you, if I tried,” Vesemir says, casual, and Jaskier clenches so hard around his knuckles it almost hurts. “Oh, you like that, little bird?”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Jaskier gasps. “Yes, Daddy, want – anything, anything, want you in me –  _ please. _ ”

Vesemir fucks him slowly with the four fingers, widening them a little with each pass, until Jaskier is properly incoherent. He’s pleading and begging for more, for Vesemir’s cock, little whines of  _ please _ and  _ Daddy _ filling the air, but Vesemir continues what he’s doing until Jaskier is certain he’s spilled out of the bounds of his body.

Everything feels so fucking good, and he just wants more, more of Vesemir, more of the overwhelming but gentle pleasure.

Finally,  _ finally, _ Vesemir pulls his fingers back, leaving Jaskier gaping and empty. He whines, making grabby hands until Vesemir slides up his body, pressing them back together. Jaskier is back to being bent in half, one leg still hooked over Vesemir’s shoulder and the other resting in the crook of the Witcher’s elbow. “Just like this, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. Jaskier is pinned, trapped, can’t look away from Vesemir’s face, his golden, burning eyes, unless he closes his own.

He doesn’t want to close them. This is  _ exactly  _ what he wants. What he  _ needs. _

“In me, please, Daddy, I want your cock, please.”

“Tell me how you want it, little bird. Hard and fast? Slow and deep?”

Jaskier whimpers. “Deep,” he answers. “Want – want to feel you everywhere.”

“Fuck,” Vesemir hisses, and they’re kissing again, a little harder, more vicious this time. Jaskier doesn’t mind in the slightest, groaning and meeting Vesemir’s passion with his own. Vesemir doesn’t bother breaking the kiss, just shifts his hips forward until the head of his cock catches on Jaskier’s loose rim and slides in.

It’s easy, no stretch at all, and Jaskier has to throw his head back to keen, breathless and needy. Vesemir doesn’t stop, sinks all the way in to the hilt in one smooth movement, and Jaskier keens again, clenching down just to feel out the shape of him. A pause, and then Vesemir shifts Jaskier’s legs, adjusts his own knees, and –  _ oh, sweet fucking gods. _

“ _ Daddy, _ ” Jaskier nearly chokes, unsure if it’s on the word or the pressure of Vesemir’s cock so deep inside him. “Daddy, Daddy, please.”

“I’ve got you, little bird, just let go,” Vesemir murmurs, pressing their foreheads together again. It’s hard, when he starts moving, slow, deep thrusts that are no less jarring for their gentleness, for Jaskier to keep his eyes open. But he forces himself to do it, to look right into Vesemir’s molten gaze. “My little bird, my  _ Jaskier, _ so sweet and perfect for me.”

“Daddy,” Jaskier breathes, eyes rolling a little when Vesemir’s cock slides perfectly across his prostate. “Daddy, fuck, want – want to feel you come, please, please fill me up – ”

“Won’t be long, little bird,” Vesemir growls the words, and Jaskier whimpers, his own cock flexing between them. “I’ll fill you up and lick it back out of you, just to see the pretty look on your face when you’re cum-drunk. You take such good care of me, Jaskier, wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes squeeze shut on instinct, tears gathering in the corners. “ _ Daddy, _ ” he whines. “Daddy, can’t – want to come, please, please can I come, want to – ”

“Come whenever you’d like, little bird,” Vesemir says. “Let me feel you come on my cock, Jaskier, want to watch your face – oh,  _ fuck. _ ”

Jaskier is certain he’s transcended his body, filled with pleasure so sharp it’s more like pain, white light and searing heat.

And then Vesemir whispers, “I love you, so much, Jaskier, little bird,” and Jaskier is sure he’s never going to come down.

* * *

Vesemir keeps his promises. When Jaskier is coherent again – or, a certain kind of coherent, at least – the Witcher dips between his legs to eat his own cum out of Jaskier, making Jaskier squirm and cry with sensitivity and arousal that’s much too soon for his exhausted body. The kiss they share is bitter and slick with Vesemir’s cum, and Jaskier just whimpers drunkenly for it, sucking the taste from Vesemir’s tongue with a heartfelt moan.

They kiss for a long time, long after the taste of cum has disappeared, long after Jaskier’s limbs have gone lax with exhaustion and sheer, pleasure-drunk relaxation. Vesemir is still pressed close, heedless of the amount of mess between them, and Jaskier loops a heavy, clumsy arm around his Witcher’s neck to keep him right there. He can’t really keep his eyes open, but that’s fine.

“Jaskier, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs, right into his ear. Jaskier makes a vague sound in reply, cracking one eyelid maybe a third of the way open. “You need to eat, little bird. C’mon.”

Jaskier whines. “Don’t want to move,” he mutters petulantly. Vesemir chuckles.

“Then don’t,” he offers. “I’ll move you.”

“Hm.” Jaskier huffs, mostly for show, then nods. “Okay.”

Slowly, gently, Vesemir gets them shifted into a different position; Jaskier between the Witcher’s thighs, leaned back comfortably against his chest. Jaskier drops his head back to Vesemir’s shoulder and sighs happily.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he mumbles, turning to mouth at Vesemir’s jaw. Vesemir chuckles again.

“Thank  _ you, _ little bird,” he replies. “Head up, now.”

Jaskier pouts but does as he’s told, and finds Vesemir’s fingers pressed to his lips. He opens his mouth automatically, and Vesemir feeds him a piece of cheese. He chews slowly, suddenly realizing that he really is  _ ravenously  _ hungry.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Thank you.”

Vesemir just presses a kiss and a grin behind Jaskier’s ear, and keeps hand feeding him. Cheese, and bread, and some dried fruits and jerky, and then he carefully holds up a glass of water for Jaskier to sip at slowly. He finishes all of it at Vesemir’s insistence, and then he’s very, very tired.

“Sleep, little bird,” Vesemir says, petting through his hair. “I’ll be right here all night, and when you wake. I promise.”

Jaskier nods, then drops his head back to Vesemir’s shoulder. “Love you, Daddy,” he whispers, lips pressed to the steady pulse in Vesemir’s neck. “Thank you.”

“Of course, little bird. Sleep now.”

Jaskier slips into darkness feeling really, truly safe.

**Author's Note:**

> things definitely upcoming here: geralt going to eskel for comfort in dom drop, and the aftercare for the lambert scene in 'great vices'. 
> 
> things _possibly_ upcoming here: free use day + axii, the baths aftercare for 'when the mind's free'
> 
> yeah, the filth is here to stay, y'all. let me know if you liked it!!!


End file.
